mr. mandela was tired, and he was wearing an overcoat. first, he insisted on working the room in south africa house and speaking to everyone there. and then he went outside and enthralled the young, if rather soaked, audience who had been listening to the music. at that point, his minders were pretty keen to move him along and get him to his bed, which he clearly needed. but no -- the coat came off and he came back up the stairs in south africa house and worked the room again. we came face to face for a second time. he looked at me and said, "we talked earlier", and i said, "yes we did, mr mandela, it was an honor to meet you and we a very nice chat." "oh good," he said, "i will move on, but i did not want you to think i had been rude." that is the difference, is it not? that was a man who, when he needed votes, could weigh them in quantities that we practicing politicians can only dream of, yet when he was beyond the need for votes he still conducted himself with that extra special magic ingredient that separated him out, like the wheat